


All I Want For Christmas Is...

by groaninlynch (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/groaninlynch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are on their way to another job when a sudden snowstorm forces them to pull over for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want For Christmas Is...

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this to celebrate my first christmas on tumblr /sigh the good old days~

They're a couple hours from the Indiana-Ohio border when Dean sees the first few snowflakes flutter down from the darkened sky, and his first thought is a bitter plea to anyone who might be listening that there not be a blizzard. He and Sam had just got done dealing with a particularly ravenous Woman in White who had nearly rubbed the skin off Dean's thighs in her attempt to get him to cheat.

(And it's honestly a bit too bad Cas wasn't there with them at the moment, because Dean was kinda proud of himself, not wavering for even a second. Which, while seeming par for the course for any other person, is an accomplishment of massive proportions for Dean Womanizer, Heart-Breaker, Love-'em-and-Leave-'em Winchester.)

Eventually they had put the bitch down, luring her back into the house where she'd killed her kids – but by that time, Sam and Dean had accumulated cuts and bruises from being thrown around. Just like the first time, when Dean had dragged his brother back into hunting.

How much has changed since then, goddamn.

After all that, the two of them were about ready to pass out on the musty wood paneled floor, but they decided that they should make some headway into the next place in need of some Ghostbusting before kicking back for a rest. And off they went to Ohio. And off they've been for the last three and a half hours.

Sam had been really intent on crossing the border, didn't want to stop until they hit that at least. But with the throbbing in his head from being slammed against a wall and the pull of exhaustion against his eyelids, the added prospect of having to tussle with a snowstorm is enough to make Dean nudge Sam awake.

“I'm gonna pull in somewhere, alright?” he says once Sam jerks into consciousness.

Sam rubs sleepily at his eyes. At least  _he_  was able to get catch some Z's. “But I thought we were –“

“It's starting to snow, man,” Dean cuts him off. Sam turns his focus outside, to where it's starting to seriously snow, the sky tinting grey. “And I ain't drivin' in this mess, capiche?”

Sam grumbles and slides down in the seat, pulling his jacket closer around himself.

The snow is coming hard, the Impala's wipers barely able to keep the window clean, by the time Dean spots a motel on the edge of some town. Without hesitation or consultation he pulls into the lot and throws the car in park, ready to call it a day already.

“Shake a leg, lazybones.” Dean pushes Sam's shoulder before climbing out of the Impala. He's worried about the damage she'll take from the storm, but she's seen a lot worse than some frozen water. “Isn't that right, sweetheart?” He gives her hood an affectionate pat.

“Quit talking to the car and let's go,” says Sam, already walking – no, more like stumbling, to the check-in. Dean rolls his eyes but follows.

A bell tinkles overhead as they walk through the door. The wind has picked up, making the windows shudder under the pressure.

“Merry Christmas!” the worker at the desk trills. Then she does a little smack of her lips and adds, “Well,  _Eve_.”

Sam glances back at Dean. Christmas? Dean checks his watch, and, well fancy that, it's the 24th of December. It's no mystery why they wouldn't know; the date is all but irrelevant to hunters. Doesn't matter if it's the Fourth of July or Easter, monsters are gonna be out and about either way.

“Uh, yeah, you too,” Sam finally responds, looking around at all the tinsel and paper decorations hung up on the walls and the ceiling. “T... Two queens, please.”

“Coming right up!” she chirps, way too hyped on the Christmas spirit, 11 at night. But then she pauses, hand mid-action. She turns and stares, really stares, at the two of them. “What were your names again?”

“Winchester,” Dean tells her. “Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Her mouth forms a little  _O_.

“You've got a couple'a rooms already bought up for you two,” the woman says, consulting the dinosaur of a computer that's seated in a corner of the desk. “Dean is in one-one-three, Sam in one-one-five.”

The very first thing Dean wonders is why Sam's room is two away from his. Then his priorities and hunter's caution catch up with him, and he asks, very politely, very calmly, who bought them.

The woman puts a finger on her chin. “Goodness, what was his name. He was a short man with these beautiful eyes.” She gives a little embarrassed laugh and says, “Quite the charmer, too.”

Dean sees his brother roll his eyes.

“Was his name Gabriel?” Sam asks, mouth twitching downward for a split second. Too quick for anyone but Dean to catch.

“Gabriel!” The woman snaps her fingers. “Yes, that's it. Gabriel. He came in here not too long ago, said to look out for two guys by the name of Winchester.” She hands them the keys for rooms 113 and 115.

The two of them falter for a moment. Dean has never, and will never, trust anything that fucker says or does, and this is probably just another one of Gabriel's games. If it is, Dean ain't playing.

Sam, however – the fact that Gabriel is including Sam makes Dean even more nervous. Loathe as Dean is to acknowledge it, his brother and that douche are...  _involved_. Which usually exempts Sam from Gabriel's scheming.

Sam grabs the keys, thrusts the one for 113 at Dean, and smiles a  _Thank you_ before stepping back outside.

“Uh, Merry Christmas,” Dean mutters before following Sam out the door, barely catching the woman's call for them to be careful out there.

Because everything is white. Everything. Dean is barely able to find the Impala while they run to their rooms, the wind pushing hard against them like it's personally out to tear them down. Fuck is he glad he decided to pull over.

“Here,” Sam shouts, coming to a stop in front of a door. “This is me.” He slips the key into the slot. He turns back to Dean before pushing inside. “I've got my phone and gun.”

“Yeah, I gotcha.”

With a nod, Sam goes through. But not before pausing in the doorway to say, “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Dean gives a noncommittal grunt that is swept away by the wind, because ain't no way he's doing this now.

He jogs down the way, a couple doors down, to his own room. Practically jams the key in and turns it, rushing inside, slamming the door shut against the cold.

“Thank fuck,” Dean sighs, closing his eyes and sagging into the door tiredly, grateful for the warmth of the room.

He snaps to attention when he hears a rustling.

That's when he sees Castiel, who is slowly inching off the king-sized bed. He's not wearing his trenchcoat; in fact, he's not wearing the suit jacket, or shoes, or even socks. Heat starts pooling within Dean, because even though he's seen the angel naked plenty of times, there's just something about him being barefoot and looking vulnerable without that hulking trenchcoat that gets Dean going.

Castiel comes to stop in front of Dean. Neither of them move for a second, just stand there staring at each other. Dean's got a million questions right now, starting with  _Why the hell are you here?_. But then Castiel is sliding his hands up Dean's chest, eyebrows knit together like he's really focusing on what he's doing, almost unsure if it's okay or if he's doing it right. And then he's got his hands clasped behind Dean's neck, and he's leaning upward, and he's got his mouth against Dean's mouth, and very quietly, almost without a sound, he whispers,

“Hello, Dean.”

~~~

“Gabriel,” Sam says as soon as the door closes behind him, “I know you're here.”

Silence.

Sam surveys the room. Nothing really seems out of place, no warning bells going off in his head. He starts walking toward the king-sized bed. He shrugs out of his jacket, kicks off his shoes, starts undoing his button-up as he states to the room at large, “I'm not an idiot.”

Still no response.

“Whatever,” he mumbles to himself as he shimmies out of his jeans. Normally he's got the capacity to put up with his – what would Sam call what Gabriel is to him? “Boyfriend” is too high school, and “lover” too serious, especially concerning someone like Gabriel – with Gabriel's antics. He's particularly on board when those antics involve pissing off Dean. But not tonight. Tonight Sam wants nothing to do with any of it.

“I'm going to sleep now,” Sam announces, positive Gabriel is listening to him, even if he isn't showing himself. Sam slides under the covers, sinking into the pillows and the mattress and the comfort. He lets out a soft breath, muttering, “Asshole,” as exhaustion overtakes him.

“Well Merry Christmas to you, too, sunshine,” a voice above him snarks.

Sam doesn't even bother opening his eyes, just rolls over.

“Sammy...”

“No,” he says. “Go away.”

“Don't make me tear these covers off you.”

Sam opens his eyes – albeit with some effort. Gabriel is laying next to him now, smiling.

“Hey, sweet thang.”

“I just wanna sleep,” says Sam.

“Oh?” Gabriel brings his hand to Sam's face in a gentle caress, tracing the lines of Sam's mouth with his thumb. “You sure?”

“Yes,” he replies, in spite of the fluttering of his heart and that itch for more that he always gets around the archangel. Especially when he is like this, so careful and sweet and kind, how he only is when he's with Sam.

Gabriel's hand starts creeping downward. “Are you sure you're sure?”

“Yes,” Sam breathes.

He pushes Sam's undershirt up. “Totally absolutely  _positively_  sure?”

Sam's skin jumps under Gabriel's hot fingers, which are splayed out across his stomach. “Yes, Gabriel,” Sam whispers, bending toward him. “Yes yes yes yes--”

“Sucks, babe!” And then suddenly Sam is being tickled viciously.

When he's finally being let up for air, the last of his laughs choked out, he swats at Gabriel. “Must you  _always_  be such a dick?”

Gabriel leans forward. “Yes, I do, Sam. Yes yes yes  _yes_.” He pecks a kiss on Sam's nose and moves before he can get hit again.

“I hate you.”

“Oh pish posh.” He sits up against the headboard, putting his bare feet under the blankets.

Sam pulls himself up next to him. “So...”

“So...” Gabriel echoes, grinning when Sam rolls his eyes.

“What's the deal? Why are you here?”

Gabriel puts a hand over his heart. “Why, Samuel, I'm hurt! Can't a guy drop in and say hello to his husband without invitation?”

“Husband? Since when are we married?”

“We're practically married.”

“No. Dean and  _Cas_  are practically married.”

“Touche.” Gabriel puts a finger to his mouth. “Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Lover?”

“Please, spare me.”

“ _Mate_?” he asks, tickling Sam again.

“No!” Sam laughs. “And stop distracting me!”

“You make it too easy.”

“Why,” Sam repeats, “are you here?”

“Do you want the truth, or the better, more exciting lie?”

Sam bitchfaces; Gabriel pouts.

“Fine.

It's Christmas. I wanted to see you. The end.”

And before he can put a lid on his inquisitive college student, he asks, “Angels celebrate Christmas?” His hand flies to his mouth. Because of course, when Gabriel, who is just as emotionally stunted as Dean sometimes, makes an honest confession, he only wants to know why angels would celebrate a Pagan holiday.

But Gabriel just huffs a laugh, probably already used to the dorkiness that is Sam. “No, not generally. Just the ones that have a human to spend it with.”

“It sure does bring out your sentimental side.” Sam smiles. He scoots closer, placing a hand on Gabriel's hip and kisses him something sweet.

“Wait,” Sam says when they break apart.

Gabriel hums against Sam's neck in question.

“Did you start that snow storm?”

Gabriel stops kissing the skin there, and Sam can feel a devilish smile spread across the angel's face. “Mmmmmmmmmaybe,” he says.

“ _Gabriel._ ”

“Well if I hadn't, you two would'a driven all the way through Christmas Eve, maybe even Christmas Day without blinking an eye!”

For a second, a brief, burning second, Sam is legitimately angry. But then he realizes, “You really wanted to have Christmas with me that badly?”

“I vaguely remember you saying earlier that you weren't an idiot.”

Sam glares, but it's half-hearted.

“Merry Christmas, Gabriel,” Sam says into Gabriel's hair as he hugs him close.

“Right back at you, kiddo.”

_Pause._

“Fuck buddies?”

“Gabriel!”

\--------

Dean's not quite sure what's happening, but he definitely likes it.

After Castiel's sultry  _Hello, Dean_ , he'd promptly started kissing Dean like there was no tomorrow. Which Dean would be totally okay with. The way Cas has his fingers threaded in Dean's hair and is moving his lithe body against Dean thinking that, hell, the world can end now and it'd be alright by him.

But suddenly Cas pulls away, and he's saying something, but Dean is too distracted by the way his mouth is so red, and full, and wet, and, and lovely, and can they start kissing again...

“I, I apologize, I messed this up,” Castiel says, Dean's brain finally allows him to focus.

“What? Cas, messed what up?” Dean asks, catching Cas by his arms because he's turning away from Dean, his face bright with what is possibly embarrassment. Dean is momentarily distracted once again, but this time with how  _human_  Cas is acting, something he'll never get used to.

“Christmas,” Castiel replies.

“Chri... What?” Dean shakes his head. “I'm lost.”

Cas pulls out of Dean's grasp without much effort, because no matter how human he acts he's still an angel that could put Dean down with no thought, and goes to sit on the bed. He clasps his hands together. “Gabriel suggested that we spend this Winter Solstice, or Christmas as it is more commonly known, with you and Sam.”

“Wait, Sam's with Gabriel? Like, right now?” he asks as he sits beside Cas.

“Yes. He was awaiting his arrival in room one-one-five. Just as I awaited you, here.”

“...Oh. O... kay. Go on.”

“Knowing of the holiday but of not how it is celebrated, I asked Gabriel exactly what I should do.”

“And he told you to jump me at the door for a make-out session?”

Castiel's eyebrows crinkle for a moment as he deciphers what Dean just said. “Um. Yes. But in my excitement I forgot the most important part, and for that I am sorry.”

Dean starts to ask what, but Cas reaches over to the other side of the bed (Dean unashamedly checking out his ass as he did so), retrieving the suit jacket. He pulls a small green plant wrapped in a red bow from a pocket.

“A  _mistletoe_?”

“Yes,” Castiel says sadly. “I was to greet you, hold this over our heads, and then kiss you.”

Dean can't help the laugh that bubbles up in his throat.

Cas frowns. “This isn't funny, Dean. I ruined our celebration of the turning of the seasons.”

“Cas, you didn't ruin anything.”

The angel glares.

“Honestly.” Dean takes the mistletoe and the jacket from Cas, puts them neatly on the ground. “Were you really excited to celebrate Christmas with me?”

Castiel looks down at his hands, still folded together. “Yes. I was.” He looks up. “I still am. If you believe that it can be salvaged.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, I think we can work somethin' out.” He puts a hand on both of Castiel's, leaning toward him. He stops before they connect.

“Wait,” he says before bending down. And he can't really believe he's doing this, but he knows he wouldn't do it for anyone else but Cas, as he holds the mistletoe above them.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” the angel says back with a smile.


End file.
